


Tevene and Nevarran

by sabinelagrande



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Backstory, M/M, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Minor Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9125332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: There are echoes of Dorian's past in Skyhold, but he finds they follow him everywhere.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a silly thing I started writing a billion years ago. Consider it a flyover view of a fusion far too involved for me to continue.
> 
> I've been purposefully vague about Percy and Dorian's ages, though they're closer in age than is canonical. Make it your own.

Sometimes Dorian does the bare minimum.

You can tell when Dorian's father is away, because his mother's laugh is brighter, her smile is easier, her whole countenance says that a weight has been lifted. Dorian regards this as remarkably overdramatic, given that stagnant enmity is the only thing between his parents, not some grander problem. Tonight, between Father being gone and a hand-selected group of Mother's favorites over for- for whatever they're here for, to look at the roses perhaps, whatever excuse it is this week for a lot of wine- Mother is in her finest form.

Still, Dorian likes to keep her on her toes, so tonight the bare minimum is the son of Mother's allies.

Percival interests Dorian. His father has Nevarran ties, with a smattering of Orlais, but he summers with his altus mother in Tevinter. Dorian is certain that everyone at this party already knows that the de Rolos are hiding the fact that Percival's magical talents are weak at best. Dorian's also not sure how much it really matters, because there are several children ahead of Percival in order of birth. And yet, Percival is the one who appears alongside his mother at informal gatherings; it strikes Dorian as a matter of grooming, making sure this slightly deficient son can deftly navigate the turbulent sea that is Tevene society. Perhaps he'll be a diplomat, an ambassador, sent off to somewhere where his brain matters more than his magic, where his being a less magelike mage might even be an asset.

That's all far in the future, though; what matters right now is that Percival is also deft at navigating what it is that Tevene boys get up to to get back at their parents. At the moment, Dorian is combing one hand through Percival's thick brown hair, biting down on a knuckle on the other so that he doesn't make more noise than he means to. Percival isn't having that problem, what with his mouth being full.

Dorian can still hear the noises of the party, the tasteful music that everyone pretends is not for the purpose of drowning out eavesdroppers. It also masks the noise Dorian makes when he finishes, which is a blessing considering that Percival is very good at what he does, and Dorian is a bit vocal in his appreciation.

Percival stands up, and Dorian pulls him in, letting Percival grind against his thigh for a moment before he slips his hand into Percival's waistband. He doesn't last long; he manages to bite his lip to keep quiet, something Dorian was not successful at.

"Thank you," Percival says, after they've straightened their clothes, which Dorian finds inexplicably charming.

"It was, quite literally, my pleasure," Dorian says. Percival smiles at him, and they slip back to the party.

And it seems like barely any time passes before Dorian learns that the de Rolos have been wiped off the map wholesale by a mysterious plague. Dorian, being from Tevinter, immediately assumes they were all slaughtered by a political rival, but he doesn't volunteer this information when Mother tells him of their unfortunate end. After all, she has probably come to this conclusion on her own.

The time that passes between that moment and the arrival in Skyhold of an intriguing group of adventurers, on the other hand, seems like an eternity. The group has a name, but really, it seems like any group of wanderers with two coins to rub together gives itself some kind of name. This one is not quite a mercenary band, but not necessarily not mercenary; their aims seem higher, something about a savior complex, which naturally brings them knocking on the Inquisitor's door.

They're quite the variety, but Dorian is certain he knows one of them. He's even more sure when the man opens his mouth to reveal a hints of a refined Nevarran accent with a dash of Tevinter inflection. Dorian just can't quite get there; his face is so familiar, but there's something about him that Dorian can't reconcile, maybe something to do with his hair-

"Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Third," Dorian says when it clicks, "as I live and breathe."

Cassandra looks Percival over in suspicion, or recognition, or something else; Dorian is not adept at sorting her scowls. Either way, Percival mutters a, "Later, alright?" to Dorian, pointedly not looking at Cassandra.

"I'll be busy later," Dorian says, glancing to Bull, but Percival clearly doesn't get it. The dark-haired woman to Percival's right does, and she gives Dorian a keen, searching look, sizing him up in a way that makes him feel surprisingly exposed. That makes Bull give her his own look, and Dorian is afraid for a moment that this is going to end in a staring contest.

That's not how it actually ends, thankfully. Herah steps in before they can look each other to death, asking pointed questions and making plans with these semi-mercenaries. Bull glances at Dorian, tilting his head towards the door, and Dorian nods, taking his leave; Bull meets him in the hallway.

"You know him?" Bull says.

"In truth, I thought he was several years dead," Dorian says. "I'm very interested in how he's not." He puts his arm through Bull's. "I'm sure you have all sorts of opinions about this motley crew already."

"They're on the level," Bull tells him. "Full of themselves, but not liars."

"People after my own heart, then," Dorian says.

"You have more style, kadan," Bull says.

"Clearly," Dorian replies. "Though I rather liked the one with the feathers. Sort of a glimpse at a dark Cullen."

Dorian doesn't see any of them again for several hours. He's back at his usual spot in the library; it's not a place where visitors would just wander by, so when Percival and the dark-haired woman- Vex'ahlia, if he recalls correctly- show up, he knows they've come with purpose. 

"There you are," Dorian says. "And here I thought the Inquisitor would have scared you off."

"It would take more than that, darling," Vex'ahlia says, and Dorian can already tell that she's a wily one. As annoyed as he is with Percival for treating him as a dirty secret, he's amused by how perceptive Vex'ahlia is as to what's going on.

"Glad to hear it," Dorian says cheerfully, just to fuck with her.

"I'll leave you to get reacquainted," Vex'ahlia says, and Dorian wonders how much Percival has really told her. She gives Percival a kiss on the cheek and takes her leave, not looking back.

"You've turned over a new leaf," Dorian says dryly, and this time, Percival gets it.

"A lot of things have turned over," Percival says. He runs a hand through his short white hair. "It's not knowing you I'm worried about, and frankly I don't think anyone would be shocked. It's that certain people still think the de Rolos died out, and I'm using it to my advantage. So please, it's just Percy."

"If that's what you need," Dorian says, "Percy."

"Thank you," Percy says, looking relieved. 

"So why have you thrown in your lot with this particular band?" Dorian says. "I thought I had the market cornered on attractive alti slumming it in Ferelden."

The slightest hint of a blush spreads on Percy's cheeks, but he doesn't acknowledge it. "It's a long story, and there are many reasons," he says, "but if you want the short answer, I was a bit of an abomination. They saved me."

"How?" Dorian asks, both repelled and fascinated.

"It involved a journey to the Fade and a lot of good luck," Percy says. "I'd be dead ten times over if not for them, or much, much worse. But what has you here saving the world? You're not the type for philanthropy."

"No, but I've already gotten to make two astoundingly good entrances and the research I'm doing is beyond compelling," Dorian says. "As surprised as I am to say it, I'm enjoying myself."

"Perish the thought," Percy says.

"Vox Machina," Dorian says. "Sounds uncomfortably Tevene."

"A flair of the unfamiliar goes a long way," Percy says, the corner of his mouth ticking up.

"I thought you'd missed that," Dorian says, amused.

"You weren't subtle," Percy says.

"And you were," Dorian says.

"We were both born to subtlety," Percy says. "You just never liked it."

"Guilty as charged," Dorian says. "I am proud to say I stopped being subtle entirely when I left Tevinter."

"It suits you," Percy tells him, and Dorian finds himself charmed, the same way Percy always did to him when they were young.

"You can, however, have my discretion," Dorian says, with a little bow. "Though I can't promise I haven't already given you away to Cassandra."

Percy sighs. "She'll see reason."

"She's not unreasonable," Dorian says. "Well, Percy of Vox Machina, are you prepared for what you're getting yourself into?"

"As much as I can be, while knowing every plan will go south within five minutes," Percy says.

"Good man," Dorian says. "You'll fit right in."


End file.
